


The Super Colossal Adventures of The Damselfly and The Spinner

by Endangered_Slug



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Romance, Rumbelle Secret Santa, Who's that guy?, after all this time?, improbable ending, silly fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-21
Updated: 2017-04-19
Packaged: 2018-03-02 12:18:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2811713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Endangered_Slug/pseuds/Endangered_Slug
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After over a decade of professional silence, reclusive comic book artist Mr. Gold's muse is revived from near extinction after he was rescued from a brutal mugging by the town librarian, Belle French. He takes inspiration from her heroic act and launches an entire new franchise wrapped around Belle's likeness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rainydaybatsy](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=rainydaybatsy).



> Written for rainydaybatsy who prompted: Stars, AU, Ink, Petrichor, Burn, and Twinkle lights.It was your icon that helped tip the decision towards this storyline. Also, I learned a new word. :)
> 
> I've long since had an urge to see Gold as a kind of Stan Lee character, someone who has launched a thousand (ish) comics, but was whose muse was being stubbornly silent for years, but then I liked the idea of him being more like Bill Watterson, a reclusive, respected, mysterious artist. Combine the two and, well, you have this.
> 
> Note: I have no good idea of how long it takes to publish a comic book from conception to print and, no matter how much I searched, Google refused to tell me. My timeline is a guess and it's most likely wrong.
> 
>  
> 
> Extra special thanks to wishingforalastingsummer who pointed out my mistakes for me and if there are any still there (there are) they belong to me because I kept fiddling with it. And a big thank you to standbyyourmantis for telling me to get over myself when I wanted to scrap the whole thing.
> 
> More thanks to that sweet person who generously made the cover art. Please let me know who you are so I can give you proper credit!

Months later, when she thought about it, Belle French couldn't say why she turned right instead of left after locking up the library for the night. Her apartment was just steps away on the left, but the twinkling lights of Granny's and her famous hamburgers beckoned at her from the right. It had just stopped raining and the clean, fresh scent of the air decided her as the stars began to peep out among the scattering clouds, it was the perfect night for a walk.

Turning right took her past the pawnshop, now dark and shut down for the night, and then a dank and grimy alleyway in which a crime was being committed.

Belle stopped short as she heard the unmistakable sounds of a tussle coming from the alley unsure of exactly what she should do. Should she help and risk being found out, or call the sheriff and hoped he arrived in time to stop the... whatever it was that was happening?

She tiptoed to the edge of the alley and peeked around the corner, but it was too narrow to let any light in. The muffled voices became clearer and she recognized the distinct voice of Mr. Gold, reclusive crankypants, and the owner of the pawnshop — not to mention half the real estate within a forty mile radius.

Most of the town disliked the man — her own father standing at the front of the line, complaining with the loudest voice. The pawnshop was a popular canvas for the local graffiti artists and she'd once heard that a gun was pulled on him while he collected the rent from someone who disliked his business methods. It may have been just a rumor, but he was liable to get shot just because he _was_ Mr. Gold than any other reason.

That decided it. Mr. Gold may not have been well-liked in town, but Belle never had any problems with him. She liked him more than most people she'd met. He was always polite to her, he returned his books on time, and she enjoyed his company despite his reputation. Besides, he walked with a cane and was at a disadvantage in a fair fight.

In the seconds it took for her to decide, the sound of scuffling got louder and she became truly scared for him.

Belle fished out her phone, hoping to use it to blind and disorient the perpetrator, then wrapped the strap of her purse around her hand a couple of times, giving it a test swing it to get a good feel for the weight. Before leaving work she'd tucked in a translation of The Odyssey so she would have something to read while she ate dinner. It was thick, library bound, and annotated — it would make a formidable weapon if she needed one. Then she took a deep breath to steel her nerves and charged into the black and waiting alley with a battle-cry.

“Hyaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhh!”

The light from her phone was feeble, but it was enough to show who was doing what to whom. All action stopped at her screaming entrance and she used their confusion to swipe her bag up into the assailant's jaw knocking him back against the wall.

“Jesus fu-”

  
She swiped at him again, cutting off his curse.

Mr. Gold stumbled back leaning heavily on his cane, breathing heavily. “ _Belle French_? Is that you?"

“Stop it right now!” she yelled as she used the bag's momentum to swing it back down on his head with a solid thunk. “You should have read the contract! It's your own fault,” she said with a grunt. The adrenaline rushing through her veins left a trail of lightning dust and there was no stopping her.

“You crazy bitch!” the man shouted, keeping his arms over his head, trying to deflect her purse from bashing his skull in. “What is wrong with you?”

She brought the stranger to his knees with a well-placed kick just for the “bitch” comment.

"Manners!” she huffed. Kicking someone's butt was harder than it looked in the movies. She turned to Mr. Gold, her hair fallen loose from its chignon and cast wildly about her face, her chest heaving with the effort of beating someone up, but she felt fantastic. “Go call the sheriff, I have him pinned down!"

Mr. Gold stood there gaping at her with a look of dazed wonder in his eyes.

She wondered why he wasn't moving. Maybe he was in shock?

Taking advantage of her distraction, the man crab-crawled away out of range and scuttled past Mr. Gold hunched over like a neanderthal before sprinting away into the night.

“Oh, damn,” Belle said, out of breath and still pumped up from the fight. “He's getting away.” She started to run after him but a vice-like grip on her arm stopped her. She looked at Mr. Gold impatiently. “Let me go, I can catch up to him.”

“Why did you do that?” he asked, incredulous. He was looking at her as if she was a lunatic, and perhaps she was crazy to have gone charging headfirst into a fight, but something burning in his eyes kept her from feeling too foolish.

“He was hurting you,” she said, breathing heavily. She handed her purse to him, which he readily took. “I would've done the same for anyone,” she said, as she took the pins out of her hair and shook her hair out, running her fingers through the tangles and tying to smooth it out as best she could.

Mr. Gold was still staring at her and if she didn't know better she would say he was gaping. But Mr. Gold did not gape. Or ogle. Nor did he stand silently with a cane in one hand and her purse clutched in the other and yet here he was doing just that with the added bonus of his own hair being mussed from the scuffle and an almost feral look on his face. She noticed that his tie was askew. She had never seen him looking less than perfect. He looked as wild as she felt and the fleeting thought that this is what he would look like after a quickie flashed through her brain. That was a dangerous path to tread and she shut it down before it could foster any more insidious thoughts. She sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly.

“Mr. Gold, are you okay? Do you need to see Dr. Whale?”

He seemed to mentally shake himself out of his reverie. “I'm fine, Miss French. I'm just flabbergasted that you would come to my rescue like that.”

“I'd hate to see anything bad happen to you.” She took her purse back from his reluctant fingers. “Did you me want to call Sheriff Graham? I'll be happy to give a statement.”

He slowly shook his head as if lost in thought. “No. No, that's quite all right, Miss French. I know who it was — and what he wanted. We needn't bother the police with it.”

She pursed her lips in disapproval. “No, it's not alright. He assaulted you. What's to prevent him from doing it to someone else?”

That snapped him back to reality. He gave her wry grin. “I don't think he'll try that with anyone else. It wasn't the first time I’ve been attacked and I doubt it will be the last.”

She hefted her purse strap over her shoulder, feeling a bit shaky now that the adrenaline was running off. “Yeah, dad's really sorry about that.”

Mr. Gold chuckled softly. “Miss French, you are a rotten liar.”

She rolled her eyes at him and walked away with him close at her heels. Maybe she'd get a steak instead of a hamburger. Something she could tear through with a knife sounded really good at the moment. “Well, maybe not. But _I_ felt bad and _I'm_ sorry. What did that guy want anyway? A rent extension?”

  
“No, nothing like that.” He spoke quietly, “I'm hardly the most popular person in Storybrooke, Miss French. So I'm doubly grateful that you came to my rescue.”

She looked at him for a moment before her shoulders sagged. “That's nice of you to say, but something tells me you didn't need my help. I should have figured that out before I interfered.”

He shook his head minutely, “On the contrary, you've helped me more than you realize. And I am,” he paused, considering his next words carefully, “eternally grateful.”

“That seems a bit much don't you think?”

“No.”

His answer was so short and decisive that Belle didn't think that it would be right to argue the point with him any longer. In any case she'd managed to get her breathing under control and they were already at the corner. “Well.” She patted her thighs a couple of times trying to think of something to say then stopped when she felt like a penguin. “I'm on my way to Granny's.”

“I'd say something about beware of the big, bad wolf, but I think you'd hold your own against him, dearie.”

“Hnn. Yeah, I would.” She smiled at him and since he seemed determined to stay with her, she led him towards the diner. They walked in silence the whole way, enjoying the brisk night air. He held the door open for her to which she nodded her thanks and headed straight for a booth in the back.

The restaurant fell silent and stared when Mr. Gold walked in after Belle. She started to feel some performance anxiety and wondered if this was how people reacted whenever Mr. Gold entered a room and how could he stand it if so. She primly sat down and picked up a menu.

Gold sat down with her but kept his eyes focused on her face which made her feel even more nervous than before.

Belle made a face at her menu feeling how awkward this situation was. “This is so weird. People are looking at us like we're going to explode.” She tried to casually look over her shoulder at the room, but quickly turned back around when she came face to face with an incredulous diner who was rudely turned in their seat, staring at them.

Mr. Gold shrugged his shoulders. “They're not used to seeing me being social. In this case,” he gestured to the air between them. “They're wondering if I paid you to eat with me or if you are in so much debt that you can't refuse my company.”

She stared at him unimpressed with his view of things. “That's just stupid. Why wouldn't they first think that I enjoy your company or maybe I paid _you_ to eat with me? That's just as likely.”

His genuine laughter surprised her.

“Not nearly as likely, but definitely more interesting. I think you're the only person in this town who is willing to be seen with me. Case in point, our earlier skirmish with my absent friend.” He sat back in his seat. “If I'd known I was going to be assaulted today I would have brought my gun. Maybe I'll keep it on me in case he shows up again.”

She frowned at him. “I'd like you to know that the library is a weapons-free establishment. Bring a gun onto the premises and I'll have you escorted out. Or do it myself.”

He nodded slightly. “Fair warning. But anything can be used as a weapon,” he pointed out. “I could easily use my cane as a weapon instead.”

“Why _didn't_ you use your cane tonight?” she asked.

Mr. Gold shrugged a bit sheepishly. “He came at me from behind.” He smirked at her holding up his hand to display his bruised and cracked knuckles. “I did okay for an old man. Luckily for me you came swooping to my aid like an avenging angel.”

Belle felt her face redden with embarrassment. “Hardly an angel, Mr. Gold. And you're not old.”

“A hero then.”

She grinned back at him, enjoying the way the light reflected off the silver in his hair. “If you want.”

“It seems fitting to me. You _are_ a hero.”

“Look...” She made a face, uncomfortable with the moniker. “I feel really weird eating when you're not. Are you sure you won't eat with me?”

He smirked and shook his head, his soft, brown eyes were bright with amusement. “No. Thank you for the offer. I think,” he said, scooting to the edge of the bench. “I shall journey my way back home and get some work done.”

Her smile dropped a bit. “Okay.”

“Goodbye, Miss French.”

“Bye, Mr. Gold.”

She watched him leave with perplexed look on her face, her eyes following him as he walked across the street and around the corner in the direction of his home. She waited until he was out of sight before turning around to find that he'd somehow managed to place enough cash on the table to pay for her meal. She shook her head and scooped it up determined to give it back to him the next opportunity she had. There was no need to pay for her dinner, though she appreciated the effort.

She'd just tucked it away in her wallet when Ruby walked up with the water pitcher.

“Take my advice, Belle. Don't do it.” Ruby's eyes were wide and scared as she refilled the water.

“Don't do what?” Belle asked with some uncertainty.

“Make a deal with him. He's the devil and will suck out your soul if you let him.”

Belle rolled her eyes as she reached for her book. “That's stupid, Ruby. He's just a man. He doesn't mean harm, he's just—“

“The Devil,” Ruby hissed.

“ _Shrewd_ is what I was going to say, Ruby. You shouldn't judge someone until you know them better, you know that. He's a nice man; I think he's just a little lonely.” She looked down at her book and made a face. “Oh no.”

“What?”

She lifted the book up sadly, her lower lip beginning to jut out in a pout. “I broke the spine.”

 

 

Four weeks later Mr. Gold came to the library in search of books on neoclassical art.

“That's an interesting request,” Belle said over her shoulder as she led him towards the nonfiction section. “Most people would just look on the internet.”

He smiled back, wryly. “I am...” he paused, searching for the right word. “ _Passionate_ about art, but I confess I was just looking for an excuse to talk to you.”

Belle stopped up short in the travel section causing him to nearly run into her. She turned around slowly. He gripped the handle of his cane tighter, his face giving nothing away. She noticed absently that the knuckles of his first and middle fingers were stained with ink. Odd. Maybe he was into calligraphy? She wouldn't have been surprised, he seemed to be the type to dabble with many different things.

“You don't need an excuse to talk to me, Mr. Gold,” she said, slowly.

He looked unsure.“I figured, it's been a while and well, given your family's history with me—”

“Are you speaking of my father?” she asked, sharply.

He nodded, the creases around his eyes becoming more pronounced as he held her gaze.

Belle looked at him sternly. “Look, Mr. Gold, my dad is a grown up and so am I. He doesn't tell me who I see and I don't nag him about his blood pressure even though those two things are areas of interest to each of us. It's a mutually beneficial arrangement. Now, what did you need to talk to me about?”

“Well, I was wondering what your thoughts were on neoclassical art for one.”

Her forehead wrinkled in confusion. “Seriously?”

“Yes. And, if you liked it, I was further wondering if you would be interested in going to an exhibit with me in Portland on Saturday.” He tilted his head as he spoke, looking very uneasy and ready to bolt if she'd give him any excuse.

She felt herself blush and furiously tried to quell the butterflies taking residence in her stomach. “Well, that— it actually sounds really nice. I'd love to go with you.” She tried not to smile too widely and failed miserably.

“Then I will see you Saturday,” he said, obviously pleased, but trying not to show her exactly how much.

The drive to Portland was spent in amiable silence. Gold had completely surprised Belle with his offer to join him. She'd always wanted to get to know him better, but the incident with her father and the resulting court case had prevented any overtures she might have made. As strange as it seemed, she was grateful for the mugger to give her the opportunity to get to know the man better as there was something about him that made her insides give a little kick whenever she saw him — definitely attraction, but she'd had no hope of anything more than appreciative glances his way until now.

She spent the drive alternatively looking out at the scenery and sneaking glances at his handsome profile. Her fingers itched to touch his hair, which was falling over his collar and hiding his eyes from view. She missed his eyes, they were warm and soft and, when he looked at her just right, the insides of her stomach fluttered uncontrollably. Touching him would be presumptuous of her though, and silly, so she occupied herself with smoothing her skirt down on her lap and picking off a bit of lint that stubbornly refused to come out of the nap of her sweater cuff.

The museum was filled with an energetic atmosphere that bolstered Belle's confidence as she followed Mr. Gold, looking around at the various paintings. She was impressed with the skill it took to create objects so magnificent, but, not having studied art before, one person wearing a sheet, sitting on a bench, and staring into the distance started to look like another. They were pretty and interesting, but she didn't have much of an idea of what she was looking at.

“Do you see anything you like,” he asked, once they were halfway around the second room.

Startled out of her reverie, Belle thought quickly over what made the biggest impression. “Um, I liked the one where the girl was sitting.”

He stopped walking and looked at her with amusement, his eyes shining at her with mirth. “Could you narrow it down a bit? That's quite a broad statement.”

“She was wearing yellow,” she said with a smirk.

His quiet chuckle set off her own and, feeling foolish and a bit out of her depth, she grabbed at his sleeve and brought him back the the painting she'd liked.

His face softened a bit as he looked over the painting, a small smile lifting the corners off his lips. “Ohhh. Yes, this is a masterpiece. One of my favorites, too.”

She was more interested in looking at him than at the painting, ignoring the fact that she still had a hold of his arm. “You know a lot about art?”

He shrugged his shoulders noncommittally. “I'm a... jack of all trades, master of none. I'm appreciative of beautiful things,” he said glancing at her out of the side of his eye. He took a deep breath as they continued walking, arm in arm. “How about you?” he asked in a low voice. “What does the mysterious Belle French like to do?”

She rolled her eyes at him. “It's no mystery. I'd like to travel and see the world, but that's not available to me right now. So I read. But that's something I'd do even if I could travel. And sometimes I write.”

He looked interested in that. “What do you write?”

“These days mostly overdue book notices.” She bit her lip thoughtfully before continuing. “I like helping people and I like books so it was a good fit for me, career-wise. Right now, I'm putting together our summer reading program, which is always fun. At the moment, the big thing for kids is pirates. Last year it was Harry Potter. I don't know... next year might be superheroes.”

He quirked an eyebrow. “Librarianship is a multifaceted career I see.”

She pulled a face at him. “Stop it. It's a good job. I can't afford to travel further than Boston and my annual vacation takes me to the far off splendor of Montreal, but here at least I might visit far off lands. What about you? Did you always want to be a pawnshop owner?”

He smiled uneasily. “No. No, that's something that just happened. I pretty much inherited the business and kept it because I like the space. I just operate it now for my son.”

“You-you have a _son_? I had no idea. Where is he?”

“Aye. Neal is... well, we're not on the best of terms. I'm not the easiest man to love so we keep our distance. He's about your age. You'd like him.” He winced a bit keeping his eyes strictly on the painting before him.

“Wait. You're not trying to set me up are you? Is that why you asked me out? I should tell you upfront that it is not happening. My father is bad enough and Ruby has a revolving door of men she likes to push on me. I don't think I can take one more person trying to dictate my love life.”

He blanched. “Miss French, I can promise that is not at all why I asked you to come with me.”

“Can I ask why?”

He fiddled with his cane a moment before looking back at her with a strained smile. “I enjoy your company and hoped I didn't repulse you too much. I said I'm not the easiest person to get along with and that's no exaggeration, but you have a kind heart and I'd hoped you could spare some of it for an old man.”

“You're not old,” she said, glancing up at him.

“I just mentioned that I have a son your age.”

“That's really not a problem. And you don't repulse me.”

He gave her a small smile. “That's a comfort.”

“And, if you're interested, there's a poetry reading in Brunswick I'll be attending next month.”

“Will you be reading?”

“No! No, I only do story time.” She licked her lips nervously. “Would you...”

He met her shy smile with one of his own. “I'd love to.”

 

—————— _eight months later——————_

 

A shadow fell over Belle as she checked off a massive shipment against an order form on her clipboard.

“Hey, Belle. Whatcha doing?”

Belle looked up from her position on the floor to see her friend Ariel looming over her. “What I’m doing is my favorite thing in the whole world: receiving.” She held up a book. “Are you interested in learning how I earn my keep? I promise you I'm not squandering tax dollars.”

Her friend snorted. “You would be the last person I'd accuse of squandering anything. You're too prudent.” She took the book from Belle and glanced at the cover. “Soooo... what? You're unpacking boxes? Can I help?”

“Well, there's more to it than that, but essentially, yes.” She held up a packing list. “ _This_ shipment has some promotional material somewhere inside one of these boxes.”

“And what is being promoted this week?” Ariel asked as she ripped open a box.

Belle's eyes lit up with excitement as she got up on her knees to dig in. “Dark One Comics has a new release! Everyone's been talking about it for months. They usually publish monthly serials, but the press release said it was a full blown, three-part graphic novel to introduce a new character. Ariel, they haven't introduced a new character in over a decade. They've been completely silent on who it is and what he looks like and what powers he has... There's been so much buzz for _months_ and I ordered a bunch of— Ah, here we are!” She pulled out a long tube, using a pen to pry up the packing tape. “I ordered some posters to hang up in the young adult section. And the front window. How do you not know about this?”

“Do you read a lot of comics?” Ariel asked, watching Belle turn the tube upside down and shake it.

“I read _everything,_ ” she said with a rueful grin as a thick roll of paper fell out of the tube with a 'shloop'. “And I wouldn't discount graphic novels, they're actually really good. The Bone books are some of the best stories I've read...” Her voice trailed off as she unrolled the poster in her hands.

“What is it?” Ariel asked.

Belle looked at her in confusion. “I—”

“Yes?” She leaned over Belle's shoulders to look. “Ohhhh.”

 

**The Super Colossal Adventures of The Damselfly and The Spinner**

 

“Oh, Belle!” Ariel's mouth dropped as she snatched the poster from Belle's numb fingers. “That's—”

Belle sat on the floor, stunned. “That's _me_!”

  
————————————

 

“Well,” Ariel said with undisguised mirth. “At least you'll always know what to dress as for Halloween.”

Belle looked at her with exasperation before turning her attention back to the full size cardboard cutout standing before her. She'd dragged all of the Damselfly merchandise into her office and spread everything out. It covered her desk and half the floor as Ariel read aloud from the press release.

“Feisty Lacey Steele is an intelligent, sweet-tempered veterinarian by day, but, by night, she's The Damselfly, a crime-fighting, syndicate-busting vigilante doling out punishment and justice on the streets of Avonlea where she thwarts the evil doings of The Spinner, a grotesque, magical wielding imp who has secrets of his own.” Ariel made a face at her. “Feisty, eh?”

“ _Lacey_?” Belle held up her chin and put her hands on her hips, adopting the same pose as on the poster. “What do you think?” she asked.

“Needs more _feist_. Listen, it goes on: Using her superhuman strength, innate goodness, and quick wit,” Ariel glanced up at her with amusement before going back to the copy. “Lacey transforms into the Damselfly whenever injustice rears its ugly head in the form of... The Spinnnnnerrrrrrrrr. Bum bum buuuummmmm. If I didn't know better, I'd say that _someone_ has a crush,” Ariel giggled as she set the copy aside. “Why Damselfly though?” she asked as she stood next to Belle with her arms crossed, looking over the display. “That doesn't really strike fear in my heart, you know?”

Belle shook her head slowly. “I dunno. Maybe The Veterinarianator was taken?”

It wasn't just her imagination, that was definitely her face plastered over the new DOC release. Standing proudly, with her hands on her hips, The Damselfly was a woman in a figure-hugging, blue and black bodysuit. Chestnut curls framed the woman's face which was left unmasked. The artist got every last detail correct, from the blue of her eyes down to the funny way her nose widened at the tip and the squint in her eyes when she was deep in thought. It was a habit she'd never been able to grow out of.

“No one decides my fate, but me,” The Damselfly declared in a speech bubble off the side of her head.

Next to the cutout was another, this one of The Spinner, the Damselfly's arch-nemesis according to the press release.

Belle looked at him just as closely, taking in his wiry hair and greeny-gold mottled skin and strange assortment of leather and silk clothes. “Do we have a deal?” he asked through his own speech bubble, holding a hand up before him — whether to ward people off or to entice them closer, Belle wasn't sure. His eyes were strange, almost like a lizard's, but the nose was crooked and came to an exaggerated point and something about it triggered a response inside Belle. It was familiar, distinctive, and she racked her brain trying to figure out who she knew that had a nose like that. It made sense to her that if she was the basis for a heroine in a comic book then she might know the villain as well.

“I can't put this out,” she said with dismay after surveying everything.

“Why not?” Ariel asked with disappointment. She was flipping through the pages of the comic book. “This is really good.”

“Well, for one thing, it's taller than I am,” she said.

“Everyone is taller than you,” Ariel said with a grin.

“Hush, you,” Belle said, nudging her friend on the shoulder. “Besides, I really don't feel like looking at posters of me all day. It'd be weird and, well, it's weird. And I want to avoid weird.”

“It's not like you can keep it a secret,” Ariel pointed out. “You said yourself this is going to be everywhere. Just put it out and get it over with.”

“No, I'll shelve the books, but I won't display anything else.”

Ariel tsked and unrolled a poster, looking at it critically. “Just put _one_ up. You can put in the far corner of the teen section and never even see it. It's actually really nice — at least you're covered. Whoever did this could have drawn you in nothing more than a thong and a metal bra.”

Belle winced. “That's true. And it's a nice shade of blue. Just... who could it be?”

“That's the question isn't it? Storybrooke is too out of the way. We don't have regular seasonal visitors. Not like the big towns anyway.”

“It has to be someone local.” She looked up at her friend, eyes wide with excitement. “Ariel, he lives in Storybrooke! He's always lived here.”

“The author?”

“Yes!”

“See this is the thing I don't understand. If this guy is so famous then wouldn't we know where he lives already?”

“No. No no no no no. You don't understand, no one knows who he is except for his publisher. Remember when everyone was wondering who Lemmony Snickett really was?” Belle said, glancing at her friend.

At Ariel's blank look, Belle sighed.

“Okay, look. This person, whoever he is—”

“Are we sure the author's a he?”

Belle paused, giving that some thought. “Well, yeah, okay, historically speaking, the author could be a woman using a pseudonym for publishing purposes. Although, graphic novels _are_ a more male dominated field...”

Ariel waved that away before Belle got carried away with this theory. “Sorry. Let's just assume it’s a “he” for now.”

“Okay,” Belle said. “ _He_ uses an obvious pen name. I mean, maybe _he_ is merely a Led Zepplin fan?” She made a wry face as she held up the book showing the author's name: _Zoso_. “ _He_ has never granted an interview in person or even over the phone so no one knows what _he_ sounds like except for _his_ agent. _He_ is mysterious and reclusive and, rumor has it, _he_ is prone to temper tantrums although I don't know how people know that if no one's talked to _him_.”

Ariel snorted to herself as she rifled through the promotional booklet, looking at the bold color scheme. “Sounds like Mr. Gold,” she threw out.

Belle gaped at her for a moment, her jaw slack in her shock. She looked from her friend's grinning face to the cutout of The Spinner with his familiar crooked nose and that _particular_ smirk and the pieces started clicking together: his sudden interest in her, the questions over lunches, the random outings, the ink on his fingers that had never been there before she saved him from the mugging, even his pleasant demeanor as if he'd just solved a problem that had been plaguing him for years. She let out a lungful of air, feeling like she'd been punched in the gut.

“I don't believe it,” she murmured, squeezing her eyes shut.

“Belle?”

She looked up at her friend with dismay. “I have to go.” She grabbed her cutout, hefting it under her arm like a surfboard.

“What are you doing?” Ariel said as she followed her back through the library. “Where are you going?”

“Solving a mystery,” she called back over her shoulder as she nudged open the front door. “Do me a favor and say nothing of this.”

“But—”

Belle stopped halfway out, shoulders slumping with exhaustion. “Ariel! Please? Please, just _don't_ say anything. I may be wrong about this. If I'm right, I'll let you know, but _if_ I'm right, well, then I'm going to need a shoulder to cry on.”

Ariel nodded her head, still unsure about what her friend was doing. “Sure, Belle. I'll, um, keep an eye on the library then?”

Belle, already halfway across the street turned back. “No one comes at this hour anyway. Just write down their name and what they borrowed on a sheet of paper and I'll sort it out later. And don't touch the new stuff! I have to catalog it first.”

“Okay.”

Belle didn't know why she brought the large cutout. She felt beyond silly carting it across the street to Mr. Gold's shop, but she knew that she needed to confront him with it, bigger than life and in his face.

The shop was empty when she entered it and Mr. Gold was no where to be found. Belle knew that he was always in during operating hours so she took an ounce of courage and parted the curtains separating the backroom from the store front, carting the Damselfly with her the whole way.

The backroom was just as empty and Belle paused to look around her. The place was crowded with crap, she realized. It was dark and dusty and filled with more things than she could reasonably make out in her haste. In the middle of the room there was a desk with a very expensive silver laptop on it next to which was a large coffee mug emblazoned with the Dark One Comics logo.

That steeled her nerves and she turned in a circle, knocking over a tea cup with her cardboard cutout in her haste. It fell to the floor with a crack but she barely even registered heard it over her frustration.

There! In the corner, by the backdoor was a staircase and Belle and her two-dimensional friend went up it as fast as her wedge-heeled booties could take her.

The door at the top was closed, but she'd gone this far and she wasn't letting something as simple as closed door stop her momentum. She could feel the hurt welling up inside and as it surged, it turned to anger. She looked down at The Damselfly and read the quote.

“No one decides my fate but me,” it declared.

Very well then. She tried the handle which turned under her hand.

Entering the upstairs studio over the pawnshop was like walking into Oz after trudging through the darkened backroom. It was well-lit for one, immaculate for another, and the shocking pop of colors of the artwork hung in neat frames on the crisp, white walls were nearly blinding. Posters showing the covers of every first release were hung up in thin, black frames on the wall underneath individual gallery lights. Character figurines were lined up on glass shelves according to story lines, awards were displayed randomly as if they were afterthoughts.

A newly framed cover of The Damselfly was leaning up against the wall waiting to be hung and a large cardboard box sat next to it filled to the top with copies of the new comic book.

She spun around slowly, taking it all in. It was all here, every character Dark One comics had produced was staring at her in some form or another and she could see that the marketing department had been busy with the new release because the shock of damselfly blue was everywhere. Everywhere she looked, she saw herself staring back.

Belle set the display stand down with a thunk and walked over to a drafting table which was situated next to the window with half-finished sketches set in the pins and she flipped through the pages as gently as she could. An overloaded cork board next to the window had reference sheets tacked up and in the middle of it Belle found her own face once more, this time in a realistic style. She might have mistaken it for a photograph except for the way the shading feathered out around the edges.

Ripping it from the board she sat down she slumped onto the stool in front of the table. In all the time she'd spent with Mr. Gold she'd never have imagined that he was the reclusive head of a mega corporation. The butterflies in her stomach fluttered about a core of lead as she contemplated what to do. On one hand, she was now in possession of information that gave her a certain amount of power. There were people out there in the entertainment world that would pay good money to learn the identity of the man behind DOC. On the other, she didn't want it. She didn't want to know, she just wanted to go back to yesterday when she was plain Belle French and he was grumpy Mr. Gold who always had a sweet smile for her.

He'd seemed so interested in her. It hurt that his interest was merely business in the end. Her heart gave a lurch when she realized it was all an act.

The stairs creaked behind her and Mr. Gold came into the room, cane in one hand, the mail and the teacup she'd knocked over in the other. He stopped, face draining of color when he saw her sitting in his chair.

“Belle,” he said, surprised to see her sitting in his chair. He didn't quite smile, the lines along his mouth deepening with stress. “I knew you were smart.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “You are not allowed to flatter me, Mr. Gold.” She shook the sketch at him, which he eyed warily. “How did you even think to keep this a secret from me?”

He walked over to a console against the far wall, carefully putting the mail and tea cup down, shoulders hunched in defeat. “I didn't. I knew you'd find out eventually.” He glanced over at her with a crooked smile. “Not this quickly, but, as I said, you're smart.”

“I also have a box full of Damselfly promotional material in my office at the library. Including this.” She pointed to the display. “And one of the Spinner.”

He turned, leaning back against the console table, with his arms crossed defensively. “Ah. And did you read it?”

“Not yet. I came straight here.”

“And brought her with you,’ he said, nodding to the display.

“I may not have been thinking clearly at the time.” She blew a strand of hair out of her face with a breath. “I'm...” She shook her head. “Speechless. You knew I'd find out about this at some point, even if I'd had a different job. Did you even think of a way to explain it?”

He shook his head. “I've really tried to not think of it.”

“So are you going to tell me why I'm the face of the new Dark One franchise?”

He inhaled sharply, opened his mouth and said... nothing.

She felt the tears well up but stubbornly blinked them back. “Mr. Gold?”

“You weren't supposed to be the Damselfly. Or, rather, she wasn't supposed to be _you_. I'd sketched you in secret for weeks — just practicing, mind you, I haven't drawn seriously for a long time. And you and she just started to blend together until I didn't know which was which anymore. And then, I couldn't separate the two of you even in my own head. It had been years since I felt the urge to branch out in my art.” His voice trailed off and he swallowed loudly.

He looked up at her once more. “You came out of nowhere that night and you jump started something in me that I hadn't felt in... well, it's been a long time. I was going through a slump, no doubt you know about that,” he said, ruefully.

“I know that you're considered difficult to work with and that you're well-respected in the comic book community and you haven't introduced a new character in a decade. That's pretty much it.”

He smiled tightly. “Well, that's all true.”

Belle opened her mouth to ask another question, but hesitated, unsure if she wanted to know the answer.

“What?”

“Did you like me at all or were you just using me for this?” she whispered in a small voice.

He stared at her, aghast. “ _Like_ you? Belle, how could you doubt that?”

“Because we've been seeing each other fairly regularly for months and you've never once said anything about this. Not _one thing_ and, no matter your reasons for wanting to stay out of the limelight, I think it’s grossly unfair that you'd expect me to be okay with it being thrust upon me.”

“You weren't supposed to be the Damselfly.”

“Well, as it turns out, I am,” she said, her voice shaking. “This town is full of kids and in a day or two one of them is going to connect the dots and then one of them will put it online and then what? What do I do when this takes off?”

“You have every right to sue me,” he mumbled. He looked miserable, curled up as if he was waiting for her to slap him.

Belle huffed out a breath in exasperation. “I don't want to _sue_ you, you silly man! I just want to understand.”

He shook his head, despondently. “I honestly can't tell.”

“You can't or you won't?” she asked.

“No, I just... I don't even know myself.”

Belle sniffled. “They're going to figure out who The Spinner is.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes closed tight. “I knew you were smart.”

“I'm not your enemy, Mr. Gold,” she said, sadly. There was a lump forming in her throat that felt like lead making it difficult to speak. “I like you. I like you a lot. You are very… special to me. I thought… I thought you liked me, too.”

“I do, Belle,” he said, stricken.

“But?”

“I'm retiring,” he said, suddenly. “At the end of this series. It's a three part deal with my publisher and then my son will be taking over the business.”

“The one that you didn't want to set me up with,” she clarified.

“I just have the one,” he said with a thin smile. “I wanted to create something special once more. You came to me at just the right time.”

She nodded, feeling wretched. “I see.” She heaved another breath, feeling as if she couldn't fill her lungs with enough air. It was stiflingly in the studio underneath the lights and now she just wanted to get out of there and go back to her library where it was safe. “So, I'll just deal with this, then. I hope you're happy.” She tried not to sound petulant, but it was difficult not to feel bitter when she'd just learned that the man she'd respected and admired and, well, _liked_ , had used her. Had seen her only as means to an end. She took the cardboard stand — it belonged to the library, after all — and hefted it under her arm.

“Where are you going?” he asked, alarmed.  

She stopped, but didn't turn around. She couldn't look at him anymore, not without wanting to cry or scream or smash the display over his head. “I have to go to work,” she said, curtly. “I have a four year contract myself and I need to honor it. Goodbye.”

He quickly limped over to her side. He reached out to her but his hand fell limp at his side. “I didn't mean to offend you.”

“I'm not offended,” Belle said with a sigh, glancing at him before looking away. “I'm _hurt_. I feel like the year that I've known you has been one, big lie. I thought—”

“What?”

She shook her head, helplessly. “It doesn't matter anymore. I _do_ have to get to work. I left Ariel in charge.”

“ _Ariel_ knows?”

“Don't worry, Mr. Gold. You'll have your precious privacy, I promise.” She fled down the stairs as fast as The Damselfly would let her, managing not to break any more china on her way out of the shop.

  
She was halfway across the street when Gold had caught up with her.

“Belle, wait!” he called out. “Please.” He tugged at her sleeve, bringing her up short.

She whirled around, Damselfly catching the breeze and trying to sail off with the wind like a sexy, blue kite.

“What on earth do you want, Mr. Gold?” she spat out, no longer caring if she made a spectacle of herself. If he was willing to have it out in the middle of the street like some spaghetti western then she would give him a show.

People slowed down as they passed them by, obviously curious about what the town’s librarian could possibly want with the hated pawnbroker. A few remembered the legal battle between old Moe French and Mr. Gold and took out their phones to start recording — just in case.

Mary Margaret Blanchard beeped as she swerved around them. “Get off the road!” she shouted to them in irritation.

Neither one of them paid any attention to her.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his eyes doing that ridiculous puppy dog thing that made her want to forgive him and kiss him all over his stupid face. After she slapped him silly.

Belle stared at him, mouth hanging open in distress. “I don’t know what you want me to say” she said, hoarsely. It was becoming increasingly more difficult to speak around the growing lump in her throat. She sniffled again and Gold winced seeing her so distraught.

“You don’t have to say anything. I’m sorry, Belle. I didn’t think things through when I started this— it’s something I’ve always had difficulty with. I-I-I just become single-minded and blaze right through when I get inspired and I forget that there are real people and real feelings involved.” He ran a hand through his hair in discomfort. His face was pinched in concentration, fully focused on her, seemingly unaware of the light mid-morning traffic slowly inching its way around them.

“I've always done it,” he said again. “That's how I became so successful. I worked and worked until I collapsed, leaving people behind entirely. I destroyed my relationship with my son, my ex-wife hates me, everyone despises me in fact. I've lost everyone. And, I did it again. I trampled all over you and didn't give one thought about the consequences and... and I know there's no excuse. My need for privacy is well-known, but I shouldn't have dragged you into this without asking your permission. But, Belle, please. I don't want to lose you, too.”

Belle couldn't look away from him and the way the wind was blowing his hair about his anguished face and she _knew_ that if he didn’t do some really good groveling this would be the last time she saw him because there was no way she could be around him any more. But, really, she just needed to know one very crucial thing.

“Why?” she whispered. “Why don't you want to lose me? Out of everyone in your life, why me?”

His lips quirked in a half-smile, disbelief written across his features. “You don't _know_?”

She was too old to stamp her foot—Damselfly would have to do. She bopped him on the head with the display. He blinked at her, stunned.

“Wha—?”

“I need you to be honest with me, Mr. Gold,” she said, thickly.

“I—” He glanced around at the crowd on the sidewalk, the sheriff's car creeping along Main Street towards them. He licked his lips nervously. “Belle, this is ridiculous. You have to know how I feel about you.”

“I know you think I'm pretty.”

He blanched. “No!”

She stared at him.

“I mean, yes, I _do_. You’re _gorgeous_ , but that's not what I mean. Belle, damn it, I love you,” he shouted in spite of their growing audience. “I love you so fucking _much_ that you're all I can see. You're all I think about, all I care about... I drew that comic because I needed to get you out of my system, but it didn't work. It burned you into my very skin deeper and deeper like a, like a _tattoo_. And I just couldn't stop. Belle.” He reached out to her, desperately, and stroked her cheek with the lightest touch, so soft she barely felt the press of his fingertips. “I'm so sorry. You didn’t deserve this.”

Well, she'd wanted an apology. Belle flung the Damselfly to the side where it flipped and skittered away down the street, and grabbed the lapels of his jacket just as the sheriff pulled up with a desultory 'Whooo!” of his siren.

“Okay break it up, you two,” Sheriff Graham called as he leapt out of the car. He strode over to them, leaving his car door open. “What seems to be the problem, Belle? Is Mr. Gold bothering you?”

Belle slowly looked over at him, her hands tightly fisted on Gold's suit. “Of course not, Graham. Why do you ask that?”

Graham looked over his shoulder at the crowded sidewalk then back at them with a raised eyebrow. “You're blocking traffic, Belle. You need to move it along and settle your dispute with Mr. Gold somewhere else.”

“No,” Belle said, uncharacteristically belligerent. “If we move then he may get away and I'm not done with him yet.”

Gold's eyes widened as she yanked him to her and then closed in ecstasy as she pressed her lips to his in a kiss that sent a gasp of horror throughout the spectators behind them.

“Aw, _Belle._ Geez,” Graham said with a bit of disgust. “You really need to go some place private for that.”

She pulled Gold closer, wrapping her arms around him until he recovered from his shock and placed his hands along her hips, pulling her against him, deepening the kiss until her knees felt like jelly.

A fully participating Gold was definitely worth the ticket Graham was writing.

A loud, obnoxious honking interrupted them as they came up for air. They looked over and saw the mayor in her shiny Mercedes trying to pull around Sheriff Graham’s car and the two of them.

She rolled down her window and stuck her head out, clearly annoyed. “Get them out of here, Graham!”

“Working on that, Regina,” the sheriff muttered as he wrote in his ticket book.

“See that you do,” she said, tersely, as she navigated around them, narrowly missing Gold as she drove by. “That’s _disgusting_ ,” she called out as she rolled up the window.

Graham finished writing with a heavy sigh and ripped off the top copy, waving it in front of them. “Who wants this?”

Gold snatched it from his fingers and glanced at it. “Obstruction of traffic?”

“If you two go at it any longer it would have been public indecency and contributing to the corruption of minors. Now clear off before you permanently scar the kids.” He nodded to them curtly and strode off to his car, hopping in before driving away towards Granny’s.

Belle rest her head against Gold’s forehead. “Do you want to come in for coffee?” she asked.

“I would love to.” he said, with a smile, his face entirely transformed as he looked at her.

The crowd had already started to disperse, whispers and rumors already starting up with a flurry of texts and phone calls. They walked, hand in hand, to the library where Ariel was anxiously waiting for them.

“What happened out there?” she asked, eagerly. “Where’s Damselfly?”

“She flew,” Belle said with a secret smile as she plopped down in one of the over stuffed couches usually reserved for patrons, pulling Gold down next to her, nice and close enough for her to feel the heat of him through his wool suit. “And I got a ticket. Thanks for watching the library for me.”

“Anytime, _Lacey_ ,” she replied as she grabbed her purse and waltzed out the door. “See you cool cats later!”

Belle snickered before remembering something. She turned to Gold who was sitting restlessly — a bit stunned, _definitely_ happy, and very mussed after their encounter in the street. She flicked at the tip of his tie with a finger, back and forth, back and forth, gaining his attention.

He looked down at her, with a hint of a smirk on his lipstick-stained lips.

“Hey, have you based your other characters on people you know?” she asked, wiping at a smudge on his bottom with her thumb.

He chuckled, taking her hand in his and kissing her knuckles. “No, you’re the first. Well, my ex-wife may have been the basis for Vultura, but that was not a flattering portrayal at all.” he had the grace to look a little ashamed.

“Well, _I’m_ flattered,” she said. “And I think after work, you should come up and show me what else those talented hands of yours can do. But, first,” she said, running the fingers of her other hand through his hair and bringing him closer to her. “I’d like to continue our riveting conversation.”

“That’s the best idea I’ve ever heard, Belle. I _knew_ you were smart.”

 

Later that night:

“Are you serious? Pyro Man boxers?”

  
  
  
  
  


 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shipperqueen93 asked: The Super Colossal Adventures of The Damselfly and The Spinner (gosh that's a mouthful lol) Belle: did Storybrooke ever find out that you were the inspiration for damselfly?

The fingers pressed to the top of the desk were her first clue that someone was standing on the other side.

Belle paused mid-stamp and waited with amusement for the full reveal. A second or two later curly, brown hair dawned over the edge and, soon enough, Henry's cheerful, inquisitive face popped up in front of her.

“I know who you are” he whispered conspiratorially before ducking back down below her eyesight.

Belle put the stamp down and rolled her chair over to the side of her desk. She leaned over and peeked around the corner. “Henry,” she whispered back. “What are you talking about?”

He wasn't there.

She sat up, looking around. “Henry?” she called out as quietly as she could, not because she was sitting in a library – she was the librarian, she could yodel out a Tarzan call all day long if she wanted to – but because Henry was playing a game and it was always more fun if you went along.

There was no sign of him, so she picked up her date stamp again and proceeded to check in books, silently wishing she had the funds to get an automated system. Maybe a fall fundraiser... no, spring would be better, she thought. She could put together something good by then she was sure.

“I know who you are!” Henry whispered in her ear causing her to fumble her stamp from shock.

“Henry!” she said, turning around and snatching his sleeve before he could flit off again. “What are you doing?”

Thy artless grin he wore should have been patented as well as the way his eyes sparkled with merriment. He was tall, but he would have made a wonderful hobbit, she thought.

“You're the Damselfly!”

She leaned back in her chair, laughing softly. It was bound to happen, of course. She should have known Henry would be the first one to come to her about it. He was clever and outgoing and loved to ask questions. “What makes you say that?” she asked.

He looked at her as if she was four years-old. “You have to be kidding me.” He held up a copy of The Damselfly — his own copy — and waved it under her nose. “Isn't it obvious?”

She took the comic from him and looked at the cover even though she knew every line on it by heart. “Well, there is a bit of resemblance...” she hedged, trying to keep from smirking.

He stared at her with a cocked eyebrow.

“What do you want me to say? That I'm the basis for The Damselfly?”

He nodded enthusiastically.

Belle sighed. “You're right. I am.”

“I knew it!” he called out before clapping a hand to his mouth, looking around at the mostly empty library. There were a few kids in the YA section staring at them.

“I knew it,” he whispered. “That's so cool! When did you do it? Who did it? Did you know? When were you going to tell me?”

“Whoa! Hey, slow down, Henry,” she said holding up a hand to stem the tide of questions bursting from his lips. “It was a big surprise to me. I found out when the comic was released. I do know who did it. I had to talk to... the person and sort out some things, but it's fine now. And as for telling you, I knew you were smart enough to figure it out for yourself.” She smiled at him, fondly, then frowned a bit when she noticed that his eyes weren't on her face, but on The Damselfly... or rather, the Damselfly's very figure hugging catsuit. “Henry,” she said, sternly.

“Hmmm?” He looked up with distraction and blushed. “Sorry.”

“It's fine. Just... that's not really me, but it'll make things awkward when people start noticing. Do you understand?”

He nodded. “Yeah, I think so.” He scratched the back of his head, scruffing his hair up even more. “So, you said you know who Zoso is?”

“I do, but I can't tell. It's a secret.”

“It's Mr. Gold isn't it?”

Belle stared at him open-mouthed. “How did you—”

“The Spinner looks a lot like him,” he explained. “And Mr. Gold is always around...”

“How old are you, Henry?” she asked although she knew exactly when his birthday was since he held his party at the library ever since she'd moved to town.

“I'm twelve. Why?”

“No reason.” She shook her head helplessly. “You can't tell anyone. You know how long it's been a secret and neither one of us can tell until Mr. Gold's ready. This is very important.”

“Oh, I can keep a secret.”

Belle was sure that he could, for a little while, but she didn't know for how long. She'd pay a visit to Gold's in the afternoon to let him know that she was outed and so was he.

“But,” Henry began, looking sheepishly at her. “I may have already told Graham my theory about you.”

“The sheriff?” she asked, remembering the ticket she got a few weeks ago. “Well that's—”

“And my mom.”

“Oh, boy. Anyone else?”

“Mrs. Nolan, my gym teacher, and all my friends. And Dr. Hopper. And Pongo.”

She felt her stomach drop a bit before squaring her shoulders and forcing a smile to her face. “Well, it was bound to be noticed sooner or later—”

“We've started a fan club,” Henry blurted out.

Her smile faltered. “You did what?”

“The Damselfly's really popular, especially with girls.”

“Well, that's—”

“First meeting is now, over there in the YA section. You want to come?” he asked, giving her that smile no one could say no to.

Belle whipped her head around. There were about eight kids gathered — mostly girls — arranging large beanbags around the low reading table. One of them had a Damselfly shirt on and Belle wondered how she didn't even notice it when she walked in. Must have been hidden under a jacket, she thought.

Grace Hatter waved at her shyly and then turned away, giggling.

“I... yes. Yes, I can make the first meeting,” she told Henry, still looking over at the group of kids. She felt in awe that they were there for her. She felt... _proud_.

“Oh! And I invited Mr. Gold,” Henry said. “He said he'd be here with _cookies_.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some TMI Tuesday prompts.

“I don’t think so.”

“I showed you mine, now it’s only fair that you show me yours.”

“That’s different. You looked good in yours.”

“I’m not going to laugh at you.

There was silence for a minute, then the bathroom door creaked open.

Belle’s eyes widened as Gold peeked his head through the crack in the doorway before emerging from the bathroom. He stepped out gingerly, embarrassment written over his features and doing everything to keep himself from turning around and locking the door behind him.

“You look good,” she told him, eyeing him up and down with appreciation.

“I look stupid,” he grouched at her.

“You’re the one that designed this,” she said, biting down a grin. His hair had been crimped and was now springy and sticking out at all angles. It was a different look for him but she liked it.

“Well, yes, but I never expected to wear it.” He shook his arms, trying to get the jacket to sit properly. “The crocodile may have been overkill in retrospect.

“Are you uncomfortable?” she asked.

He widened his shoulders, stretching the leather jacket a bit and wiggled at the waist. “It’s confining, but I’m not losing circulation. The boots were a pain.”

“I bet they were,” she said, looking down at the crazy lacing structure. “But the effect is wonderful.”

“You think so?” he asked, unsure, but still pleased, looking down at them.

“Mmmmm. Yeah, I really like it.” She ran her hand over the leather, relishing the feel of his muscles underneath. She stroked his back, lower and lower until she reached the tight, leather breeches. Then she pinched his bum making him squeak in surprise. “It’s a good look on you.”

“The Damselfly is bold,” he told her, lowering his voice. “Are you going to put yours on now?” he asked, eyeing the pile of spandex on the dresser.

“Yes.” she said, taking it and walking to the bathroom. She stopped at the doorway, turning her head to tell him, ”and if you’re good I’ll let you take it off me.”

* * *

 

**Roll Play Wednesday**

Belle cried out with triumph after a resounding “thump” brought her foe to the ground. She held his hands over his head and stretched over him, breathing heavily. He gave a perfunctory struggle, but  couldn’t break her strong grip. She bit her lip, trying not to grin too widely as his endeavor proved fruitless.

“It’s too late, Spinner, I have you now,” she whispered in his ear.

“I seem to be entirely in your control. What _ever_ shall you do with me.”

“Well, you should definitely be punished,” she said, moving against him.

He turned his head and captured her lips with his, but she pulled back before she could get lost in his kiss — again. “No, Spinner. You won’t deceive me this time.”

“Curses, foiled again,” he said with a smirk, licking his bottom lip.

“Did I ever thank you for not putting me in a spandex boobs suit? This is really very comfortable.” she asked suddenly, tilting her head to look down the length of their bodies, admiring the view. The bright blue of her super suit really popped against the textured leather he wore. Speaking of popping… She reached down and gently massaged the stiffening bulge that was poking her leg. “You seem to have a hidden weapon. Did you plan on using it against me?”

“It was my master plan all along,” he admitted with a strained groan. His hips thrust up involuntarily against her hand. “I’m afraid I’ll need extensive rehabilitation. You look lovely in your suit, sweetheart, but I’m beginning to rethink my use of leather and buckles for mine.”

Belle took pity on him. “We should free you from your constraints before you turn evil again.”

He nodded his head eagerly. “It’s for the greater good after all.”

 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The Fangirl](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10682703) by [Strummer_Pinks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Strummer_Pinks/pseuds/Strummer_Pinks)




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